


The Ashen Taste of Victory

by carmenta



Category: Coldfire - Friedman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-01
Updated: 2006-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:56:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all that can be done is pick up the pieces and keep going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ashen Taste of Victory

Precious rugs on the crystal floor. Wall hangings on the crystal walls, giving the room solidity. Furniture, costly and elegant; almost too much of it for the available space. Art on display on the polished side tables; of wood, of metal, of crystal, from abstract to realist. A dark red stain on the valuable carpet, still wet. The body of a girl on one of the couches, ashen skin and fair hair in stark contrast to the blood on her throat and clothes.

Damien looked up when the Hunter slowly approached. It wasn't hard to tell that he was in pain; his movements were slow and deliberate, and his skin was pale in places and still sunburn-reddened in others. But he was awake again, and on his feet, so it didn't seem that any permanent damage had been done. No physical damage, Damien amended. Wounded pride at a plan gone wrong might be another matter.

He watched as the grey eyes took in the sight of Jenseny on the couch before flickering to the blood on the ground for a moment. Assessing, calculating. Then the Hunter's gaze settled on Damien.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice rough and hardly more than a whisper.

"She saved us." It was all that had to be said, and all Damien could really say.

A Knowing brushed his mind then, and he didn't protest the intrusion. Let the Hunter take his information that way; he had to know, and this way Damien would not have to explain it all, when he was only beginning to truly understand it himself.

The Hunter was silent, his face unreadable as he once more studied Jenseny's body. For a long time he just stood there, watching the girl, watching Damien. Watching the currents, most likely. Damien wondered what he could read in them.

"She took him with her," Tarrant said softly. Almost surprised.

Damien sighed, running a hand across his face. He was tired, and it wasn't reassuring that he couldn't say for sure how long it had been since he'd had more than an hour of sleep. He needed rest. From the looks of it, so did Tarrant. A day at least, maybe more. But after Karril's visit, he was not sure whether they could afford it.

"Yeah," he said just as quietly. He glanced at Jenseny again and closed his eyes when it hurt to see her like this. It shouldn't have come to this.

He heard the Hunter step closer, and it wasn't really a surprise to feel a cold hand come to rest on his shoulder in a gesture that was part support, part regret.

"We must leave," Tarrant said quietly. "Karril says he has already told you what is at stake. We cannot linger here."

"I know." Damien turned his head to study the pale face of his companion. Paler than usual where the skin was not red and sunburnt, he was certain of that this time. He wondered when he had begun to remember Tarrant's usual hue. "Are you able to travel?"

"Katassah will have a ship ready for us tomorrow at sunset, along with what supplies we will need."

Damien continued to look at him, took in the tension in the slender figure, the way he held himself just a bit more stiffly than usual. "That's good to know, but are you able to travel?"

The look Tarrant shot him was unreadable. "I will have to be," he said eventually.

Not at all what Damien wanted to hear, but still it was what he had expected. They both weren't up to this, not yet, but there was no choice. There would be enough time to rest on the journey across the ocean.

The hand on his shoulder withdrew, and he watched as Tarrant took a hesitant step towards Jenseny, then another. For a long time he studied the girl, and Damien wished he had any indication of what was going on behind the grey eyes. Then again, maybe it was better not to know.

"You told her that you would take her home," the Hunter whispered after what felt like a small eternity.

Not quite trusting his voice, Damien nodded. Then realized that Tarrant wouldn't see this, and said, "I did."

He hadn't dared to make it a promise, not even to reassure her. The chances that they would survive had been too slim for him to lie to her like that. If he had believed it himself… But she had known, in her own way, and she would have been able to tell a comforting lie for what it was. She had made her own choices when she had asked to come with them. Still, that had been done out of fear of abandonment. If only they hadn't been so desperate for the knowledge she had been able to provide... They wouldn't have had to accept it then.

They shouldn't have done so, not even for the knowledge. Jenseny shouldn't have come with them. Damien shouldn't have let her. Hesseth should have spoken against it. Tarrant should have been more insistent. Tarrant shouldn't have misled them, Hesseth shouldn't have had to die, Jenseny shouldn't have had to do this brave, brave, foolish thing.

So many regrets.

"We will pass the Kierstaad protectorate," Tarrant said, interrupting his thoughts. "When we sail up the coast."

They could have taken her home that way, if only things had been different. Jenseny could have gone home, and he wouldn't even have had to argue with Tarrant over making a detour.

"It's not going to do her much good now," Damien said quietly. "And even if we could have taken her back, there wouldn't have been anyone left for her to return to."

Even as he said this, he realized that he wouldn't have known what to do in that case. They couldn't have taken her back with them, but neither could she have been left here. Not in a land where adepts were being killed and where everybody who showed unusual behaviour would be suspect.

Still, he would have wanted to have to try and solve that particular problem.

"You told her you would help her to return to her home," Tarrant said slowly. "Did you give her your word?"

Damien shook his head. "No." He drew a shaky breath, looking at Jenseny's pale, grey face. Tiredness was catching up with him fast, and he was beginning to feel the bone-deep exhaustion that had been threatening for hours. "I couldn't."

Tarrant turned to look at him then, and for a long time the grey eyes studied him. Damien wasn't sure what he was looking for, and right now he could not have cared less. He didn't have the energy for this. If he thought too much about Tarrant's motivations for this question, he would have to wonder about other motivations. For deceit, for misleading, for not trusting him enough to let him know about the plan. It wasn't a road he wanted to walk right now, because he did not know where it would lead.

"Did you promise yourself that you would take her home?"

The words were startling. For a moment he had no answer, then he simply nodded. It wasn't something he had consciously thought about, but he knew that if there had been a way, any way, he would have done it. And he'd have found a way.

Another long look, then a glance at the dead girl on the couch.

"Then we will have to take her with us," Tarrant said quietly.

Anger flared momentarily at this easy decision. As though Damien hadn't considered this himself already, and come to the conclusion that it wasn't possible. Not with the time it would take them to travel, not in this climate. Not unless they took the time to prepare her first, and they couldn't spare that. He had even thought of Workings to help with this, but there was nothing he could do that would be thorough enough.

The Hunter's coldfire might be enough, if it could be made to last. But he hadn't been able to ask Tarrant yet, and he wasn't certain whether it was a question he wanted to put to him. The dislike for Jenseny had never been veiled, and Damien hadn't yet had the chance to re-evaluate their situation.

"Is it possible?" he asked nevertheless. And why are you offering this? But the second question remained unvoiced.

Tarrant hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "It will be."

Once he rests, Damien thought. And once he hunts. He couldn't even feel upset by that thought, only vaguely relieved that he would not have to feed the Hunter with the terror of his nightmares.

He wanted to return home. Wherever that was, whatever would be left of it by the time they got there. He should have been satisfied that they had achieved their objectives and that they had managed to uncover a new danger much earlier than they would have if they hadn't come here. And he would feel it, but right now it all was still too new and raw. Jenseny was here before him, her blood not even dry on the finely woven carpets. Hesseth was lying in the ravine, broken and so still. Whatever triumph there was, Damien could not feel it.

"It was a brave thing she did," Tarrant said quietly.

"We'd have failed without her." Truth, that, and Damien was painfully aware of it, and still he did not want to accept that Jenseny's death had been necessary for the greater good.

Tarrant nodded. "Just so," he said, taking a few steps towards the settee again and kneeling down in front of Jenseny, carefully avoiding the bloodstains on the carpet. His movements were slow, and Damien could almost feel the pain the gesture had to cause.

When the Hunter raised a hand to touch the girl's face, he almost interfered. There had been no sympathy from Tarrant before, no consideration for the child. But then he saw the little flash of coldfire, saw the crusted blood on Jenseny's cheek flake away. Quietly he watched as Tarrant cleaned first her face, then her hair. Not a quick Cleansing, as usual, but small, meticulous swipes. Damien guessed that he lacked the strength for more; a sobering thought, and yet it made the gesture respectful rather than a mere necessity. He suddenly found himself wondering how much of Tarrant's irritation with the girl had been the inability to show her any kindness or mercy, denied by his compact. Then he thought of Tarrant's own children, and of his intolerance for interference with his plans.

Still, some twisted feeling of honour was once again making the Hunter do something Damien had not expected. And if this time it was respect for the one who had saved them all and who had done what they could not, then he was not going to question it. Not now, not when so much was uncertain.

It took long moments before Tarrant rose again. "I need to leave," he said, his voice a mere whisper. "The sun will rise in a few hours."

"You could take from me," Damien offered. He didn't cherish the thought of nightmares, but it would be better than to let Tarrant hunt or, even worse, feed upon the young woman's terror. And in a strange, uncomfortable way, the dreams were familiar by now and a sign that all was, if not well, then at least not too far from normal.

Tarrant shook his head, the motion minimal and perfunctory. Damien wondered just how much pain he was hiding.

"I need a hunt," he said simply. "And while your nightmares would be more than adequate, I would rather not draw upon them now." He straightened, a minute shiver following the motion. "Not when there is no knowing what you may dream of."


End file.
